


the wild ones

by orchid_spiral



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Body Horror, Gore, Hallucinations, Horror, Insanity, Multi, PTSD, Sci-Fi AU, a huge amount of exposition, alternate personalities, character and relationship lists subject to change, dark!fic, giant mutated animals, graphic descriptions of death, superpower au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchid_spiral/pseuds/orchid_spiral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the world ends, there's always survivors. Some do their best to rebuild what's left. Others try to search for what they've lost. And some are on the fringe, making their own lives from what they've found. They're dangerous, unstable, wild... but in the end, they're alive and they're going to stay that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prelude to a maelstrom

**Author's Note:**

> And here we go. My mind never ceases to amaze me- I jokingly contemplated a new story to write while I was stuck on let me see the light in your eyes, and half an hour later this was jumping around in my brain, demanding to be heard. In all honesty, I have no idea if any of this is even remotely plausible, though I would like to say first that this is an AU where the US and Canada have never used nuclear power, mainly because quite a lot of the US's nuclear power stations are in the east, so if the apocalypse actually did happen, then in all likelihood there wouldn't be enough left for this story to work. A lot of my inspiration came from a very intriguing Cracked article I read on what movies get wrong about the apocalypse, and it kind of snowballed from there. I can't promise that the next chapter will be any time soon, because I have exams (originally, I was going to write chapter 1 before I posted this intro, but that didn't work, and I finally said 'fuck it' and decided to post this because there was no point in not doing it), but I'll do my best. If I've forgotten to tag for anything, please tell me so I can correct it. Hope you all enjoy it.

I guess the worst thing about this whole situation is that there isn’t anything we could have done to prevent it.  
  
There probably isn’t a single person alive who hasn’t looked back at something that they regret and thought about what they would have done differently if they’d known what would happen, or what crucial information they didn’t know- how they would have acted, what they would have said, what they would have chosen to do.  
  
But if we’d known about this beforehand, what could we have done? Moved everyone in the eastern US and Canada to the west? Couldn’t happen. Tried to wall off the initial contamination site so no one could get in or out? Like that would have worked. Tried to kill the contamination when it first appeared so it couldn’t spread? Yeah, no.  
  
It’s that, above all, that hurts the most. There’s nobody we can blame (unless you’re religious) and no way we can really fix this, and it’s that agonising feeling, the frustration of being unable to do anything that’s really choking everyone from the inside.  
  
It started small, like all the best apocalypses do. One tiny spot in south Maine became New Hampshire, and Quebec, and New Brunswick, until the infection spread all over the east coast, and it’s showing no signs of stopping.

And it defied explanation. Why does something as strange as this infection change certain animals and wipe others out (like most of the insects)? Nobody knows. Why hasn’t it infected the fish or anything else that lives in the water? Your guess is as good as mine (though it’s a damn good thing that it hasn’t, because otherwise it’d probably end up all over the world). Could it suddenly mutate and start infecting things living in the water? No clue.  Why does it have such significantly different effects in infected humans as opposed to the effects in infected animals? If only we knew. But it’s so strange, so unpredictable that even if we had unlimited resources, we might not be able to figure out its nature or find a cure- assuming that one could even be found for everything it’s done to us.

And oh, _what_ effects it has. In every other kind of animal, it killed off the very old, the young, the sick, the weak. But the remainder became monsters- huge ravening beasts bigger by far than any of their species ever seen before, their hide, fur, feathers changing to colours you never see in nature. They can smell the blood of anything infected from miles away, and they’ll rip whatever bleeds apart. They’re _smart,_ smarter than any animal we’ve seen before. And they’ll attack anything they want on a whim- anything, from their siblings to whatever animal considered them prey. And they love infected humans. We’re lunch to them- everything from the wolves to the cats to the fucking _cockroaches._

Yeah, I said cockroaches. Ever had a cockroach the size of a piece of A4 paper crawl onto you while you’re asleep and try to eat your face? I have! Ever had a hummingbird the size of your head try to peck your eyes out? I have! Ever had a- OK, I think you get the point.

As much as we’d like to believe that they would have all killed each other by now, that’s just wishful thinking. They fuck like rabbits, all of them, and not only are multiple births common even in species that usually only have single births, the young grow fast and strong and _tough_.

It’s a wonder we’ve lasted this long, honestly.

It affects humans differently, of course. Like the animals, it killed off the old, the young, the sick and the weak, but unlike the animals, the rest of us were no safer. It’s like it chose who to kill at random. I’ve seen people who were starved and weakened and close to death recover and come back stronger than they ever were, while the ones with the best prognosis faded away in hours, unable to be saved.

And unlike the animals, it’s impossible to tell who’s infected and who isn’t. Well, at least while we’re alive. When we’re dead, it’s very easy to tell. The corpses swell, the skin turning the kind of colours that make them look like some kind of grotesque abstract art. They’re volatile- if you so much as look at an infected corpse the wrong way, it’ll burst, showering everything nearby with blood and gore. And not only is it a beacon to every infected animal anywhere nearby, the blood burns like acid, especially if you’re not infected. If a drop lands on your skin, then you’re probably OK. If enough blood gets on your skin, then you’re infected, and if it gets into, say, an open cut, then you’re _definitely_ infected, even if it’s just a few drops.

Still, it’s not like we’re the minority here. In fact, it’s the uninfected who are the minority now. Even with all the ‘we’re all in this together, we need to stay strong’ bullshit everyone’s touting, we all know the normal ones don’t like it when they’re not in control. Though they’re the ones missing out.

Freaks, they call us when they think we can’t hear. Mutants, filth, walking magnets for the infected animals. Translation: we’re jealous and we’re talking shit to cover up our own insecurities. Though if you asked them, they’d all deny it.  
  
And for the record, we like to call ourselves ‘empowered’. ‘Superpowered’ makes people of superheroes and supervillains, and we don’t have the time or the resources for that shit. ‘Mutants’ sounds like _X-Men_ \- just more of the same.  
  
Me? Yeah, I’m empowered. I guess I got lucky- I got agility. I can jump higher than a cat, move in ways most contortionists can’t, pull off the kind of jumps and twists that you only see in the best gymnasts- though it’s not like I actually need to do those kinds of stunts.  
  
Could be worse, I guess. It’s a pretty useful power.  
  
There aren’t a lot of us left, but we’re doing our best to hold on to what’s left of humanity here. We’re hanging on as tightly as we can, and for every inch we lose, we fight to take five more inches back.  
  
Though there really isn’t much left.

As soon as it became obvious that the infection was moving its way up and down the east coast of North America, people started running west as far as they could. Initially, the rest of North America welcomed the refugees, but once they realised that the infection was slowly moving west, they drew a line on a map, put soldiers on that line, ordered them to shoot anyone trying to get past them, and then they built a wall.  
  
As it turns out, if you devote the entire available national resources of two wealthy first world nations to building something, it gets done pretty fucking fast. And when the safety of those two nations- and maybe even the rest of the Americas, at that- is at risk, nobody tries cutting corners.  
  
It’s a hell of a wall, bigger than the Great Wall of China, or so I’ve heard- I’ve never seen it, and there’s a good reason for that. It’s supposed to be on par with the Wall from _Game of Thrones_ , except there’s no way through at all, unless you can fly, or walk through solid objects, or teleport (though there’s only a few teleporters, and none of them are stupid enough to try it… we hope).  
  
Good luck not getting shot, though. Not only do they shoot anyone who tries to get across, they shoot anything that even comes close to the wall. Even obviously-uninfected animals. Even people looking for help. The fuckers.  
  
It starts at a point near Myrtle Beach, in South Carolina, and goes straight up north until it hits the Lakes. They gave us Lake Ontario, though nobody goes near it now. The wall goes neatly around Lake Ontario and Toronto, and then it goes back north on its original path until it hits the ocean.  
  
So that’s what happened: a whole slice of the USA and Canada, cut off from the rest of the world, forming one whole new country.  
  
Ha. Just kidding.  
  
We’ve got a few telepaths here, and they've managed to reach across the wall a few times. According to them, it's been officially declared that every person on our side of the wall has died.  
  
Bullshit.  
  
Oh, don’t get me wrong. Almost everyone died, so many people. Millions succumbed, to the point that there are some places choked with the corpses of people who tried to escape to safety and failed.  
  
But it wasn’t just the people who got infected. It’s too easy to only remember the people who died from the infection. No, there’s a large percentage of the final death count that came from all the people who relied on society to keep them alive, a society that no longer existed: elderly and infirm people in nursing homes. People with chronic illnesses, relying on prescriptions and medications and medical treatments that they couldn’t get. People in hospitals who couldn’t walk, or run, or even wake up. Inmates in prison who were left to die of starvation, or worse.

Of course, they weren’t the only ones killed by consequences. A lot of power stations caught fire. Gas lines exploded. Lightning strikes caused more fires, and there was no one there to put them out. We’re just fucking lucky that we’ve never had any nuclear power stations, or we’d really be fucked. There are some towns that literally got blown and burned off the map.

Then there’s all the people who escaped the cities and got killed by the infected animals. The ones who decided to go insane, riot, loot, attack others and died as a result, because maybe it’s fun to be a selfish asshole who takes the opportunity to make things worse for everyone else, but all they did was shorten their own life expectancy. The ones who had no idea how to survive off the land, and died of natural causes as a result.  
  
(When I say natural causes, I mean ‘caused by nature’. Just my little joke, even if it’s not that funny. It’s not like there’s much to laugh about now.)  
  
It’s been about six months, I think, since society collapsed. Maybe six and a half, at the most. And we haven’t given up, no way.  
  
We survivors, we’ve done our best with what was left. We’ve taken over two cities, rebuilding and adapting what’s left of them to protect ourselves. We’ve got ourselves two working and functioning cities, now: Sanctuary, in Canada (as was) and Haven, in America (as was).    
  
In each city, there’s about ten thousand people. Yeah. Twenty thousand, all up, in a stretch of land that had over a hundred million people living in it.  
  
Whatever you’re thinking right now, trust me: the reality was far worse for us.  
  
But we’re doing pretty damn well, to be honest. We’re very organised: we’ve built our own walls around the cities to keep out the infected animals, and we’ve got snipers who shoot any of them who come close- but _not_ the humans, of course. Both Haven and Sanctuary are on the coast, and they’re both running on solar and water power, primarily. We’ve got some genii here who make Tony Stark look like a three-year-old playing with Lego, and they’re constantly working on adapting the technology left behind so it functions for us, since it’s not like there are any power stations left.

For something that caused this whole clusterfuck, the infection’s been a great help in some ways. Mostly, it’s the superpowers: we’ve got people here who can heal anything, and they’ve managed to keep everyone alive, even the ones relying on medication they can’t refill. The empowered work on everything from purifying drinking water to making non-polluting light sources, and every last of them is essential. 

Though of course, the so-called normal people aren’t useless by any means. Part of re-establishing society means that we’ve brought back everything: schools, hospitals, the whole shebang. Anyone who’s learned a trade of any kind practices it, even if the only facilities we have are primitive and next to useless. And there’s never a lack of work to do: everyone helps out in any way they can, whether it’s holding tools for someone or carrying messages.  
  
Admittedly, we spent most of the first few months living off tinned food and everything else that’d last a long time, but we’re farming, now, and we’ve got a lot of room, a lot of manpower and a lot of patience. Hell, we’ve even got livestock- not every animal got infected, and yeah, it’s not a big number, but we’re taking good care of what’s left. We’ve got cows, sheep, horses, pigs, chickens, bees, and more, and they're doing well.  
  
We have to be self-reliant. There’s nobody else _to_ rely on. Haven and Sanctuary are too far apart to easily move things between the two cities, and the roads are in pretty bad condition overall, though we do our best to keep them clear. We’re communicating almost constantly through telepathy, and we do occasional exchanges of really vital items and people- mostly the ones who got separated from friends or family- but that’s about it.

And we definitely can’t rely on the rest of the US and Canada. The telepaths in Haven and Sanctuary have found out enough to tell us that it’s all bad news: apparently, the US and Canada have joined forces and become one country, the United States of North America. They’ve declared the entirety of the land beyond the wall a dead zone. They call it ‘Area 35’, and they're keeping us in here with the infected animals, with no way to escape.

Love it or loathe it, they’re the enemy now.  
  
So we have our own scavenger teams: they check out every town they can reach, take notes on what’s left, and they bring back what we can use- which is basically everything, really. I’m the leader of one of them. My name is Seth Rollins, and me and my team reside in Haven. It’s not a pleasant job, but we do the best we can.  
  
Of course, we’re not just looking for resources. Our telepaths are constantly looking for more survivors, and we find them pretty regularly. I think the most we found in one place was this one town that only had one way to get in- and that road had been cut off by flooding. By the time our people got there, maybe four months ago, they were down to their last resources, but they were otherwise fine. Four hundred people, and now they’re all safe with us.  
  
Then again, there are the ones who aren’t so nice. Some of them are just paranoid. The worst we had was this one guy who thought we were from the US Government, sent to kill anyone left alive, and he was ready to shoot all of us to save himself. We managed to convince him we were friends, though. Nice guy. He works in our library now.  
  
There's always the real assholes, though- usually loners, they loot and raid and decide that everyone else can go fuck themselves. We’ve found a few who’ve killed or attacked other survivors, usually for whatever they had on them, and most of the time we just shoot them. No point in trying to take them back- they’re the assholes who’ll just refuse to do any work, make trouble for everyone and bring everyone else down.  
  
Of course, not all of the lone wolves are assholes. We’ve picked up a few who really went wild. Some are insane, whether it’s from the chaos, the shock of seeing so many people dead, or just from being alone for so long by themselves. Others are so used to solitude that actual living people are hard to comprehend. It usually takes a while, but we get them back to Haven in the end, and the doctors and healers can take care of them.  
  
We’re not experts by any means, and our solutions aren’t perfect, but we always do the best we can. This is all we’ve got, so we have to make the best of it.

It’s not like we have any other choice.


	2. phantom fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. This chapter was a bitch to write and edit, but here it finally is. Now, I have to admit something here- I don't know if any more of this fic will be forthcoming, mainly because I'm still unsure about parts of the plot. However, having had this chapter written, I thought I may as well just post the damn thing. I hope you guys like it, and that it actually makes sense. :) If I've forgotten to tag anything, please do tell me.

_In the end, while many would later describe its coming as slow, to Edge it would always be as quick as a guillotine’s blade._

_True, he’s heard reports of its approach for weeks, this strange phenomenon, but all the reports differed so much that he hasn’t taken any of them seriously._  
  
_Besides, he’s in Toronto. This… this… whatever it is… has only affected the east coast, barely getting a foothold on the continent proper._

_Or at least, that’s what Edge thinks. He only finds out that he’s wrong when he hears the screams._

_A car accident? A fire? He’s not sure. But he ducks outside to look, and freezes to the spot as he takes the view in._

_The world is ending around him._

_Smoke floods the air, its thick grey plumes making Edge cough and hack as he gasps at the sight. Above him, Toronto’s skyline is burning, orange flames reaching toward the sky as they devour the skyscrapers._

_But that’s not the worst part._ _No, the worst part is the chaos directly in front of him._

_The road is clogged with cars. Some seem to have just stopped normally, others have crashed into cars, buildings, and in one horrible case, humans. People run past Edge, some screaming, others in shock._

_Behind them…_

Oh, what the _fuck_ , _Edge thinks._

 _From a distance, the_ thing _looks like a dog, but as it gets closer, Edge realises belatedly that it’s no dog._

_Dogs normally aren’t five feet tall with silver eyes. Dogs normally don’t have thick black fur that’s falling out, revealing lurid purple skin underneath it._

_And dogs normally don’t rip arms off._

_He doesn’t get time to react. The dog-thing spits out the arm, looks down at its bleeding victim contemptuously, and then lets out a snarl that would have made Edge run, if his feet weren’t locked in place by pure terror._

_No. No. That’s wrong, he did run-_

_Did he?_

_No, of course not. How could he, after being confronted by-_

_No! That’s not- it’s not-_

_It’s wrong, it’s **wrong,** it’s all wrong._

_Edge isn’t his name. He has another name, but what is it? How can he know? Why-_

_Above him,_ something _slams into a skyscraper with a deafening roar that knocks Edge to his knees. He tries to cover his ears, but his arms won’t work; his wrists are limp. The noise makes him scream, and pain explodes in his head, pain so agonising that his vision turns white for a few seconds._

_When it returns, he tries to lift his head, and it takes an eternity to muster the strength to do it._

_Everything is on fire._

_For a second, he wonders if he’s in Hell. The buildings are all aflame, shedding debris like brimstone. The crashed cars are on fire, and Edge throws himself flat as one explodes, shards of metal whipping past his head._

_An agonised scream echoes through the air, and he looks around, only to gag and blanch as he sees what’s causing it:_ _It’s a woman, and she’s burning alive, her hair turned to ashes, her skin blistered black._

_The hideous stench of smoke and cooking meat makes Edge throw up, and he barely manages to roll away from the mess._

_Something else explodes, and the pressure pushes him down, against the searingly hot ground. He inhales, starts coughing, and tears flood his eyes as he coughs, unable to see clearly or even breathe._

_Slowly, he manages to get to his knees, but something lands on his back, forcing him down, leaving him-_  
  
  
Edge’s eyes snap open as he’s startled into wakefulness, and he tries to rise, only to be foiled by the heavy weight holding him down. He blinks frantically, only realising that he’s not dreaming any more when he takes a breath and smells the lack of smoke and death.  
  
Slowly, the room comes into focus: green walls, white ceiling, his plain wooden bed. His bedroom. His home. Safety.  
  
So what the hell is on his back?  
  
He tries to turn over and dislodge the crushing weight, only for something to stab into his back, tiny points of pain making him groan.

Well, on the plus side, he knows what it is now.  
  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he groans.

He’s answered by a purr, and he sighs.  
  
“Get off, Angel,” he says grumpily.  
  
Angel purrs louder, flicking her tail. The tip moves back and forth over Edge’s bare back, and it tickles.  
  
Damn cats.  
  
Edge gives up and relaxes, slumping face-first into the pillow. At least it was just a dream. He keeps having them, and each time it’s a little different. Whether it’s a horde of ferocious animals savaging everyone in sight or a shower of flaming debris, his dreams are never pleasant.  
  
At least here, it’s peaceful. Edge never thought he’d be one for small-town life, but he’s found peace, comfort, understanding, all the good things in the small, sleepy town of Camden.  
  
He’s also found one extremely clingy cat.  
  
Edge contemplates going back to sleep, but given that Angel deciding to sit on him ended up in his dream, he’s not sure that he wants to, given that he’ll probably end up dreaming of being crushed to death or something.  
  
Then again, he’s not sure that he wants to wake up, either, though it seems like he doesn’t have a choice.  
  
He looks over at the clock and sighs. The batteries are dead, and he keeps forgetting to buy more. He’ll have to take care of that today.  
  
But first he has to detach the cat.  
  
It’s a slow process, but he eventually manages to get Angel to leave. She’s not particularly keen on moving, but she finally climbs down and leaps off the bed, flicking her fluffy tail with annoyance.  
  
Of course, once he’s removed the one thing in the way of getting up, he doesn’t want to get up any more.  
  
Still, it’s not like he has any reason to stay in bed, so he groans and finally hauls himself out of bed.  
  
Angel’s by the door, meowing and looking up at him expectantly, so he opens it and pauses.  
  
How did it get closed? He normally leaves it open.  
  
He looks behind and freezes: there are three windows, all high in the wall, and he left one open. 

_Oh God, I'm a fucking idiot._

He starts berating himself for the mistake, but Angel meows from outside and Edge stops, trying to stay rational.

Nothing got in. Nobody got hurt. He won’t do it again, and that’s the end of it.

He shuts the window firmly, finds a discarded shirt, pulls it on and walks out of the room, rubbing his eyes.  
  
He’s always grateful for how the farm’s set out. It’s a very modern farm, if small, and it runs on solar power. It doesn’t make up for the water problems, of course, but whoever ran the farm before Edge’s arrival had grown their own vegetables and frozen most of them, and he hasn’t even gone through half of them yet, even with all the food the animals eat.  
  
Speaking of the animals…  
  
Edge looks down and smiles as Muffin races across the room and twines himself around Edge’s ankles, meowing furiously. He’s always so insistent, Muffin is- and greedy, too. He’ll eat all the other cats’ food if they won’t.  
  
Angel’s sitting next to the door, washing a paw and not bothering to look up. The view from the adjacent window tells Edge that it’s just after dawn, and the sunlight highlights the black spots on Angel’s otherwise-white fur. She looks up at Edge, her green eyes serene.  
  
“Come on, Muffin,” Edge says, looking down at the calico blur. “I can’t feed you if you don’t let me walk.”  
  
Once Muffin’s slowed down a bit, Edge leans down, picks him up, and carries him over to where he’s set the cats’ bowls out along a stretch of unused wall. The dogs’ bowls are in one of the guest bedrooms, mainly because while most of them get along, Rain and Chiaro will take any opportunity to fight. He does his best to keep them apart, but cats go where they want, and even if it’s for their safety, no cat will accept ‘stay out of here’.  
  
Still, he does have an entire farm to work with.  
  
The animals come first, of course. He fills all the food and water dishes (even though of the five cats, only two are there to eat), and then cleans out the litter boxes. Once that’s done, he crosses to the other side of the farmhouse, making sure that the door between the halves is closed, and slips into a certain room.  
  
Four dogs wake as the door opens. Terra yawns and closes her eyes (and Edge can’t really blame her), Callie bounds across the room and jumps up to greet Edge, Rascal lets out a loud _woof_ , and Chiaro nearly falls off the bed in his haste to get up.  
  
Edge distributes pats as needed, and then gets to work on filling their bowls. It’s not easy, given how Chiaro and Callie like to jump, but he gets it done in the end.  
  
While the cats do go outside a lot, they usually lounge around indoors. The dogs, in contrast, have their own specially-fenced off field to run around in, and once Terra wakes up, she joins the other three outside as they run around crazily, yipping and barking at each other.  
  
Edge smiles wryly, shakes his head at their boundless energy and heads back inside. He’s got more work to do, and he gets to it: next it’s the cows, then the goats and the horses, and finally the rabbits. He’s nothing but assiduous, especially since they’re all especially vulnerable: as much as Edge tries, and even with all the books the previous owner left around, he’s not an expert and he knows it. If he- or any of the animals, at that- gets seriously injured, then they’re screwed, because Edge isn’t a doctor or a vet, and both the doctor and the vet are out of town right now.  
  
It’s frankly dangerous, but the rest of the town seems confident in their assistants- not that Edge has ever met either- so it’s not like Edge has a choice.  
  
By the time he’s done with the immediate work, at least an hour’s passed, maybe more. The rainwater tank’s still half-full, so Edge takes a shower, scrubbing the sweat and dirt off.  
  
It’s not a long shower, mainly because he’s going to have to do more work shortly. The water system in the town hasn’t been working for a while, though everyone makes do. It helps that the river’s big, easy to access and very clean. A stream runs close to the farmhouse, so Edge hauls water to the tank regularly, working the filter hard.  
  
Technically, the tank’s for rainwater, but it doesn’t rain a lot. On the one hand, given that the farmhouse runs on _solar_ power, that’s a good thing, but on the other hand, it doesn’t help the water supply.  
  
But it’s not like he can do anything about it, so instead, he gets out of the shower, towels himself dry and pulls on some clean clothes. Time for breakfast.  
  
There’s a certain element of satisfaction involved when one eats breakfast one made themselves. To be fair, Edge didn’t make the strawberry jam, but the loaf is fresh, baked yesterday, and he churned the butter two days ago. The result is rich and sweet, and he savours every bite, eating several pieces before his stomach decides it’s had enough.  
  
He takes a second to just lean back in his chair and relax before he takes his plate and knife over to the sink and washes them. Once he’s done, he looks around the large, sparsely-furnished room, listening to the silence.  
  
Over the month or so he’s been there, he’s learned to enjoy it. Maybe he’ll go down to the town later, catch up with the people there, do a little shopping. But for now, he sits down on his couch, leans back and closes his eyes, listening to the emptiness as it wraps itself around him.  
  
It’s hard to know how much time passes as the silence slides into its mind, but he’s shocked out of it by the panicked screeches. He comes awake with a start, his eyes wide as he scrabbles for a gun he’s not carrying.  
  
_On the bookshelf next to the door._  
  
He’s halfway across the room before he realises what’s happening, grabbing the gun from its place and flicking the safety catch off. He darts out the door, down the corridor and outside, trying to pinpoint the source-  
  
_Left._  
  
He turns left and starts moving as fast as he can without making a huge disturbance.  
  
In the end, though, it doesn’t matter, because the cause of the panic doesn’t care if he’s there or not: it’s one of the hideously mutated animals that keep appearing from God knows where. This time, it’s a dog… or it _was_ , at least, probably a German Shepherd. But it’s at least one and a half times the size of a big adult German Shepherd, and instead of black/brown fur, its fur is bright red and black, under the dried blood.  
  
Its eyes are black all over, its teeth are huge, and it’s throwing itself at the fence over and over, trying to break through to get at the terrified dogs as they snarl and whine, falling over each other to get as far away from the monster as possible.

Edge’s blood turns to ice.

Nobody hurts his friends. And nobody fucks with his farm.

The dog monster barely even notices him, and that’s just fine.  
  
Clinically, almost a little detached, Edge drops to one knee, sights and fires three shots, the bullets shattering the silence around the farm like glass.  
  
One goes through the dog’s throat, the second into its chest, the third into its eye. The dog falls, blood spurting onto the grass, and Edge freezes, looking around frantically, listening for the sounds of more incoming.  
  
_There’s no danger. Burn it._  
  
Edge turns away, moving toward the shed before he even registers what he’s doing.

He keeps gasoline in the tool shed, both as fuel for his truck and for starting fires in an emergency. He doesn’t drive a lot, mainly because the road conditions are terrible, but he manages when he has to.  
  
Now he takes one of the cans, a pair of gloves and a tarp outside, bracing himself before he walks over to the corpse.

He approaches it with caution, but it’s dead, not playing possum. He had a bad moment once when a mutated squirrel launched itself at his leg after he shot it- turns out one bullet wasn’t enough, though thankfully he wasn’t badly hurt.

He steels himself and picks the corpse up.

It’s huge, but not as heavy as he’d expected, so it’s not hard for him to carry it away from the dogs, far off to where he’s laid out the tarp. Once he’s checked everything, he soaks the body with the gasoline, lights it with his cigarette lighter and throws the gloves onto the blaze.  
  
It’s not a good solution, but there aren’t many. The mutants are drawn to the smell of mutated blood, so he burns the bodies when he kills them. Simple as that.  
  
Well, that and he carefully ripped out every blade of grass that had blood on it and burned them with the corpse, just to make sure.  
  
It’s what he has to do if he wants to stay safe.  
  
Once the flames have subsided, he carefully picks up the tarp, folds the edges into a rough bundle, and carries it around the side of the farm, to the pit where he disposes of his trash.  
  
He throws the bundle unceremoniously into the pit, shovels some dirt on top, and shoves the shovel back into the pile of dirt.  
  
Edge pauses, looking down at the pit, wondering if it’s enough. The smell of burnt flesh is strong, but it doesn’t carry the alien tang of mutant blood that draws the monsters from miles away.  
  
He _was_ going to go down to the town, but if there’s a risk that more of them will come around-  
  
_Don’t stress. Go shopping._  
  
Edge nods and relaxes, looking around cautiously. He can’t hear anything, and that’s the way he likes it.  
  
When he first came to the farm, the silence did scare him. It was a symbol of everything wrong with the world- how the animals had been scared off by the mutants, so instead of the chirps and calls of the birds, the sounds of the crickets, the frequent barking of annoyed dogs and the screech of tires as the inevitable idiots who can’t drive sped down the road, he just had the silence, enfolding everything in its ever-present arms.  
  
Now, the silence soothes him. They’ve all become a lot quieter, even the dogs. Noise is the enemy now. Noise means the mutants.  
  
Thinking of the mutants, he turns and goes back inside.  
  
The dogs are panicking, barking and snarling, and it takes a while for him to calm them down enough that they stop raising such a racket, but once he’s done, he lets them back into their little field, and they race around and bark hysterically.  
  
The cats heard the noise, and they knew enough to recognise it for what it was, but they didn’t see it, so they’re not quite as ruffled.  
  
Well, that and no respectable cat would want to be seen as anything less than perfectly poised, of course.  
  
He attends to each of the animals in turn- the noise spooked some of them, but he manages to calm them, and once he’s done he heads back inside and contemplates the silence.  
  
He’d better make a list, if he’s going shopping. Let’s see… he’d kill for some eggs, but there have been disruptions in the supply lines. More honey, more jam, cat and dog food, of course, shampoo and conditioner, soap, paper towel, toilet paper… cold things are impossible to find, since there was that problem with the power, sadly. More matches, more oil… yeah, that should do it.  
  
He frowns, looks around and taps the end of the pen on the table. There’s something he’s forgetting, what has he… oh, of course. More batteries. He writes it down, folds the paper, sticks it in his pocket and heads out the door, making sure to shut it firmly behind him.  
  
Outside, the wind blows gently, and the sound of the leaves whispering as they brush against each other makes him start and spin around.  
  
Just the leaves. No reason to get all hyped up. Deep breaths.  
  
He’s still on edge, no pun intended, as he heads over to the garage. He’s no mechanic, but in this case he didn’t need to be, because he found his Jeep abandoned on the side of the road near the farm when he went out exploring, a few days after he first arrived. He still can’t understand why: it’s a perfectly good vehicle, no faults, and its tank was full. Sure, he had to clear some really noxious trash out of it first- and the rusty dark brown stains still haven’t come out of the front seat- but the Jeep’s fine.  
  
He swings into the driver’s seat, pauses, and looks behind him at the back seat. The sight of the thick black duffel bag lying on the back seat makes him feel better, as always: he keeps spare guns and ammo in there, in case one of the mutants attacks the town while he’s there. And yeah, maybe it’s not safe- anyone could break in and find them- but in an emergency, he doesn’t want to have to run around the farm to find them, wasting precious seconds.  
  
He turns the key and drives carefully out of the garage, stopping once he’s out to close the door. Once that’s done, he drives onto the road leading into town, moving slowly.

He has to go slow, of course. He’s spoken to the council about it repeatedly, but they always tell him that nothing can be done about the state of the road. Which is bullshit. They haven’t even towed the abandoned cars away, or got rid of the trash.  
  
So he carefully steers around them, dodges the occasional pothole and thumps over loose stones until the Jeep drives up the hill and onto Main Street.  
  
It’s such a lovely town, Bristol. Edge loves it. The buildings aren’t that big, the people are friendly and everything is always the same.  
  
He slows down and opens the window to talk to Joe, who’s sitting outside the doctor’s surgery as always, staring at the road ahead.  
  
“Joe,” Edge greets him. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Edge,” Joe replies with a smile, his husky voice soft. “Good to see you.” He doesn’t look away from the road, and Edge suppresses a wince. Joe’s on the lookout for his girlfriend: she’s in the army, he said once, and she’s supposed to be home any day now.  
  
“She’s not back yet, is she?” Edge asks sympathetically.  
  
“Not yet,” Joe confirms. “But she’ll be back some day. I’m gonna ask her to marry me the moment she walks back into town. I’ve waited my whole life for the day she comes back.”  
  
“I hope it’s soon,” Edge says. “I’ll see you around, Joe.”  
  
Joe nods, and Edge drives on sedately, taking care to drive slowly enough that he can talk to everyone he meets.  
  
Sally and Rita are stopped at the edge of the road, and Edge sighs and stops next to him. “Shouldn’t you two be in school?” he asks, exasperated, noting their pristine uniforms.  
  
Sally giggles, and Rita blushes- and Edge hopes it’s because she knows that skipping school is wrong. “We’re going there, Mister Edge,” Sally assures him, her sweet voice full of sincerity. “Right now.”  
  
“Right,” Edge says sceptically. “Which would explain why you’re headed in the opposite direction to your school, hmmm?”  
  
Rita gasps a little, and Sally just laughs. “We _are_ going to school, Mister Edge,” she says. “Promise.”  
  
Edge sighs and relents a little. God knows he skipped school a few times with his… somebody. He can’t quite remember who, but that’s not important. “You always say that, and yet I never see you there,” he notes.  
  
“We’ll go there right now,” Sally says, and she draws a cross over her heart. “Cross our hearts and hope to die, right, Rita?”  
  
Rita nods, avoiding Edge’s eyes, and Edge sighs again. “You’d better do that,” he warns them. “If I keep seeing you two out here when school’s on, I’ll have to call Principal Smith, understand?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sally says contritely. “I’m sorry, sir.”  
  
“Just get back to school,” Edge tells them. “You’re young, you’ve got chances that not everyone gets. You’d better not waste them.”  
  
Sally mumbles another apology, grabs Rita’s hand and the two of them take off, back to school. Hopefully. He wouldn’t put it past the two of them to just go to the park near the river instead, but he’s not there to make sure that the kids don’t play truant.  
  
To tell the truth, as he drives on, he can’t remember ever being that young, and it leaves him feeling kinda depressed.  
  
The next two people make him almost want to drive on without stopping, but he makes himself stop. It’s Mr and Mrs Carlson, and they’re always hard to deal with. Both of them have to be over seventy, and they hate it- not because of the limitations that old age brings, because they belong in a time when, as they tell everyone, things were less expensive, people paid the elderly more respect, children weren’t so cheeky, the weather wasn’t so harsh, politicians knew who deserved the real benefits and the music wasn’t so atrocious. But that time no longer exists, and oh, how they hate it.  
  
Both of them bridle as Edge pulls up, and he braces himself for a bad conversation.  
  
“Good morning to you, Mr Carlson,” he says as cordially as he can manage. “It’s very good to see you, Mrs Carlson.”  
  
“You’re driving too fast,” Mr Carlson snaps. “In that rusty old thing, it’s a miracle that you haven’t crashed yet. You need to slow down.”  
  
“You need to do something about those hooligans,” Mrs Carlson adds. “They drive too fast and play that awful noise they call music too loud. They make life hard for law-abiding citizens.”  
  
Edge takes a deep breath and lets it out. “That sounds like more of a matter for the police, Mrs Carlson.”  
  
She makes an angry sound. “Police? Ridiculous! They do nothing to help anyone nowadays. They only look out for themselves. You need to- no, you’re just another one of those hooligans, anyway. That hulk you drive makes far too much noise!”  
  
Lacking any other options, Edge grits his teeth and bears it. “I’ll do my best to help, Mrs Carlson. I’m afraid I must be going now. Good day to you both.”  
  
With that, he drives off before either of them can reply, though he’s pretty sure that he can hear a shriek or two over the engine noise.  
  
Still, at least that’s over.  
  
From there, it’s a short drive to the library, and there’s an open parking space in front, thankfully. He ends up having to park on top of some trash he can’t clear, but that’s not a problem.

He’s got his old library books in a bag on the back seat, and he swings out of the driver’s seat and pulls them out, kicking the trash irritably as he steps over it.  
  
The library’s calm and quiet, despite the buzzing flies in one corner. Edge waves a few aside irritably and heads for the return desk.  
  
Molly’s behind the desk as always, though she seems to be checking something underneath it. She always seems to be checking underneath it, for some reason.  
  
Edge clears his throat and taps loudly on the desk. “Excuse me? Molly?”  
  
She stands, looking alarmed, but she relaxes when she realises that it’s Edge. “Oh, it’s you, sir! So sorry to make you wait.”  
  
Edge shrugs it off. “Don’t worry about it, Molly. I’ve got a few books to return.”  
  
She smiles. “Of course, sir. Just leave them here, and I’ll take care of them.”  
  
Edge sets the books down, and glances over at the last few piles of books he returned, still on the desk. “Shouldn’t you get on returning them as well?”  
  
Molly blushes. “I’m so sorry! We’ve been overhauling the computer system, sir. I haven’t had a chance to get to it.”  
  
Edge sighs. “You should probably get on that soon. You wouldn’t want Jim to find out, would you?”  
  
She gasps at the thought of her stern supervisor. “Oh, no! You’re right, I’ll get right on that.”  
  
With that, she bustles off, carrying the books, and Edge nods.  
  
It takes him a few minutes to find the books he wants, but it’s no big deal. He’s got time to spare.  
  
When he gets to the main desk, it’s unoccupied, as always. Apparently Isa’s still on vacation.  
  
At least once Molly notices the delay, she gets Edge checked out as fast as she can. She’s not bad at her job, she just has a bad tendency to not notice things.  
  
With that job done, Edge drives over to the gas station and refills the tank from the sealed containers of gas the station sells, the ones designed for emergencies. He loads a few more into the back seat and heads inside to pay for them.  
  
Carl’s working the register, as always, his apron stained with some dark fluid. He was probably working on a car or something, Edge thinks approvingly. He’s always liked Carl.  
  
“Carl,” Edge says warmly. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Not bad, sir,” Carl replies. “It’s good to see you again. Mr James swore he saw a few of those mutants around yesterday.”  
  
Edge stops, going very still. “What? Where? Why didn’t someone tell me?”  
  
“It’s Mr James, sir,” Carl says pointedly.  
  
Edge sighs and nods. Mr James, aka the town loudmouth, is depressingly prone to saying whatever he thinks will get him the most attention, whether it’s bullshit rumours about cheating spouses or accusing someone of petty theft. “Good point, Carl.”  
  
Carl nods and scans the next can. “Sir, the credit card reader’s still broken.”  
  
Edge groans. “Damn it! I still don’t have cash.”  
  
“It’s no problem, sir,” Carl says. “After everything you’ve done for us, sir, we can wait until the ATM gets fixed.”  
  
Edge sighs again, feeling guilty. “It’s gotta be fixed one of these days, right?”  
  
“We can certainly hope so, sir,” Carl says sunnily.  
  
On that note, Edge bids him farewell, leaves with his supplies, and drives off.  
  
Washington’s showing shocking signs of disrepair these days: street trees are overgrown, the roads are covered in even more trash and leaves, and there’s cars parked where they shouldn’t be, right in the middle of the road, even. Edge has to concentrate to navigate, and all in all, he’s very, very relieved when he finally turns into the supermarket’s parking lot.  
  
The door’s still broken where some punk smashed it, but given that the other doors aren’t working, it’s Edge’s only route in. He gives the nearest clerk a nod of greeting, pulls his list out of his pocket and gets to shopping.  
  
Despite the lack of fresh food and the presence of yet more trash- someone’s going to get fired for this, Edge thinks- the store has everything on his list and then some. In most cases, he gets double just in case, and by the time he’s finished, his cart is piled high with his supplies.  
  
The baggers are on strike or something (Edge couldn’t quite hear the reason), so he ends up having to bag everything himself.  
  
Eh, it’s no big deal. He’s done much more before, and then some.  
  
He’s halfway through when he freezes, staring out through the broken door.  
  
Somehow, he just _knows_ that there’s a mutant in Springfield. In _his_ town.  
  
He drops the bags, gabbles a quick apology to Carrie, the clerk, and runs out, barely remembering to duck through the hole in the door instead of heading for the unbroken ones.  
  
The tyres squeal as he pulls out of the lot, and he almost forgets to put his seatbelt on in his rush to find the damn thing before it can hurt anyone.  
  
He’s kept them out so far, no matter what. This is _his_ town, and nothing’s going to hurt it. Not on his watch.  
  
He’s pretty sure that he breaks the speed limit at least twice in his rush to get to the town hall, but it doesn’t matter. Not when lives are at risk.  
  
The town hall is an old building, built several centuries ago. It’s small, but sound, and most crucially, it has a bell tower that’s several storeys high.  
  
The bell was removed decades ago, but the tower’s still intact, making it a perfect place for Edge to snipe mutants.  
  
(Admittedly, he does know how bad it looks when he’s sniping things from a tower, but nobody’s complained so far.)  
  
He drives up onto the stairs in front of the hall, turns the engine off, grabs his bag from the back seat and takes the stairs at a run, racing past the reception desk and straight to the back stairs.  
  
The door to the back stairs used to be locked, but after Edge asked the mayor to keep it open, it remains shut but not locked, in case of idiot kids who decide to play pranks.

He throws the door open, wincing as it hits the wall with a _crash_ , and bolts up the stairs as fast as he can- though with the exertion and the weight of his bag, he’s panting by the time he reaches the top.  
  
He knows he needs to work out more- after all, it’s hardly the best state for someone who’s defending a whole town, but with the farm, he never seems to have time.

Fuck it. He’ll have to _make_ the time.  
  
The top of the tower isn’t a complex space- a dome supported by six equally spaced columns. Edge drops the bag in the centre of the room, and-  
  
_Behind you, to the left._  
  
He rummages through the bag and finds his binoculars. With them in his hand, it’s simple enough for him to turn around and-  
  
Oh, _shit._  
  
It’s not one mutant, it’s three. Three mutant bears, to be specific. Each of them are the size of a small van, their fur vivid shades that no animal’s fur should ever be, their eyes coal-black.  
  
At present, they’re walking toward the town at a slow, regular pace, ambling along without a care in the world, perfectly at ease with each other.  
  
This, Edge imagines, will probably change once they realise how many people are around. Like Joe, and Rita, and Sally, and even the Carlsons, as annoying as they are.  
  
He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and holds his hands out, looking for any tremble. Seeing none, he pulls his rifle from his bag, loads it, and then drops to one knee between the two columns, carefully sighting.  
  
Three mutant bears: two are the same size, and the third is slightly smaller. Whether he’s looking at a mother, father and their cub, two males and a female, or just a motley crew of three unrelated bears is a question for another day. 

As he watches, the bears pass by an abandoned car that’s been slowly rusting for months now. One of them ambles over to it, sniffs it curiously and nudges the car with its nose, like it wants to see if the car responds.

The car responds by being flipped onto its roof by the force of the tiny nudge, and Edge swallows involuntarily.

No time for that. No time for freaking out.  
  
Instead, he takes a few deep breaths, aims at the smaller bear and fires three shots into its brain.  
  
He can see through the scope that lurid brown blood is flying, and the other two bears freeze as their companion falls to the ground, dead.

And in unison, they fly at the corpse, ripping and rending the flesh with their wickedly long claws.  
  
Edge feels his stomach revolt as he witnesses the carnage: it’s one of the worst traits of the mutants. In some few cases, they react to bloodshed by going insane themselves and attacking anything in sight, but in most cases, they react by attacking the wounded and ripping it to shreds, whether it’s a long-dead corpse, their mate or their child.  
  
Still, it makes them sitting ducks.  
  
He sights, aims and has his finger on the trigger when another gun fires, and the smaller bear falls.  
  
Edge is so surprised that he reacts without thinking, his finger pulling the trigger automatically, sending the bullet flying aimlessly into the sky.  
  
He stumbles backwards, tripping over the bag and falling heavily to the floor, but he’s too shocked to care.  
  
_People?_ Other people? Here in Salem?  
  
A second later, the reality hits him, and he lets out a shocked laugh: of course there are other people. There’s always been other people. Why is he so surprised?  
  
Outsiders, he corrects himself. Newcomers to the town. There haven’t been very many of them since, well, Edge himself.  
  
But there’s still one bear left.  
  
He pulls himself to his feet, picks his gun up and kneels again.  
  
He can see the newcomers, now: a Humvee and, of all things, a huge Kombi van, one that’s been visibly patched up, but not repainted. The Humvee’s in the lead, stopped a few metres away, and Edge sees that the person in the passenger seat’s the other shooter.  
  
Fuck it. This is his town.  
  
He fires three shots and watches as the third bear hits the ground, dead.  
  
Mission accomplished.  
  
It’s not over, though. The occupants of the Humvee have climbed out of their vehicle- one inspecting the corpses, the other looking around.  
  
Looking for Edge, he realises slowly.  
  
It occurs to him that holding the gun probably won’t make the best impression, so he sets it down and waits.  
  
The person looking around starts looking up, and Edge carefully leans out of the tower and waves slowly.  
  
They see him.  
  
The Kombi pulls up, and two more people climb out. The four convene, and after a minute, one climbs into the Kombi and comes out with a megaphone.  
  
“ _Hello up there!”_ he calls. All Edge can say is that he’s got an American accent, but that means nothing. “ _Could you please come down so we can talk?”_  
  
Edge knows it might not work, but he cups his hands and calls back “ _OK! Coming down now!”_  
  
He slides the gun back into the bag, gathers it up and slowly descends, giving the newcomers time to reach the hall.  
  
In the end, he’s waiting for a few minutes, sitting on the steps, listening to the sounds of engines grow louder and louder as the Humvee and Kombi approach.  
  
They pull up neatly in front of the town hall, and Edge suppresses his initial anger at these intruders, these people who’ve just walked into _his_ town like they have any right to be there.  
  
_Hear them out,_ he tells himself. _Just give them a chance. Visiting the town isn’t a crime, after all._  
  
The first two emerge from the Humvee, and they’re an odd couple. The first is enormous, a brick wall of a man. He’s tall and muscled, his hair long and black, and his face seems to be permanently set in a serious expression that borders on a frown.  
  
He’s accompanied by a woman with two-toned hair, half blonde and half brown-black. She’s holding the rifle with a faintly amused expression, and Edge reluctantly concedes that even though she stole his kill, she’s still a damn good shot- and she actually seems to know what she’s doing, which is a definite plus. He’s met a lot of morons who knew jack shit about how to handle guns, and yet insisted on playing with them like toys. Idiots.  
  
The other two are an interesting combination as well: a tall, slim man with dark hair, excepting one bright blonde patch. He’s accompanied by a young woman who seems to be bouncing instead of walking, an Alice band set firmly in her hair.  
  
She bounces over to Edge with an excited expression. “Hi! You shot those bears? That was so cool! You’re really good at shooting, anyone tell you that? Oh, man, it’s so good to see someone else around here-”  
  
“Bayley,” the sapient wall calls, “try breathing, OK?” 

She pauses, looking almost confused, but then nods. “OK.”  
  
He walks over to Edge and stops, almost smiling. “Your town, huh?”  
  
Edge swings to his feet and nods. “My town, yeah. Though it’s good to see some visitors. We don’t get a lot of newcomers.”  
  
The wall extends a hand. “Roman Reigns.”  
  
Edge nods and shakes his hand, and there’s a slight jolt, like a live wire met an inert one. He pauses for a second, but there’s no time to consider it. “Edge.”  
  
“My friends are Bayley,” Roman says, pointing to the excited young woman with the Alice band, “Kaitlyn,” and he points to the woman with two-toned hair, “and Seth Rollins. He’s the one in charge.”  
  
Edge nods again. “Good to meet you all. What brings you here?”  
  
“Looking for survivors, mostly,” Seth says, walking up to meet Edge. “But we also pick up stuff we need.”  
  
Edge frowns, confused. “Survivors? From what?”  
  
“The mutants,” Roman says smoothly. “They’ve attacked a lot of towns. They kill a lot of people.”  
  
“Not here,” Edge says. “We’re doing pretty well.”  
  
“You live here, right?” Roman asks.  
  
Edge shakes his head. “I live on a farm about fifteen minutes to the west,” he explains. “But I come into town a lot.”  
  
Bayley perks up. “A farm? Do you have animals?”  
  
Her enthusiasm’s infectious, and Edge can’t help but laugh. “Sure. Cats, dogs, horses, the works.”  
  
“Oh my God can we go there? Seth? Please?” Bayley’s practically vibrating with excitement, and Seth chuckles.  
  
“Sure we can,” he says. “If Edge doesn’t mind.”  
  
“It’d be my pleasure,” Edge replies truthfully.  
  
Then a thought strikes him. “You said you were looking for survivors?”  
  
“That’s right,” Kaitlyn says, speaking up for the first time.  
  
“What do you do when you find them?” Edge asks.  
  
“Take them back to Haven,” Seth replies. “It’s a city on the west coast. Got about ten thousand people living there now. Most of them don’t have any reason to stay where they are, or any way to keep surviving there.”  
  
Somehow, the name _Haven_ just feels… right, to Edge.  
  
If he didn’t have the farm and the town to look after, he might even think about heading there himself. Not that he can, of course.

“Would you mind showing us around your farm?” Seth asks politely.  
  
“Not at all,” Edge replies. “I was actually in the middle of my shopping when the bears turned up, so if it’s OK…”  
  
“Sure,” Seth replies.  
  
He takes them by the scenic route, leading a little conga line of vehicles around town, stopping every so often to point out the town’s best features or introduce them to some of the more notable personalities.  
  
The strange crew of newcomers are perfectly polite, but Edge senses some sort of… reticence? Shyness? Maybe they’re just not used to meeting lots of people at once.  
  
He puts it out of his mind as they pull up in front of the supermarket.  
  
“How long’s the door been broken?” Roman asks as they all carefully step inside.  
  
Edge shrugs. “Can’t remember. It’s getting pretty hard to get anything fixed right now.”  
  
“That’s a shame,” Roman says. “Must make it hard for people.”  
  
“We get by,” Edge says, shrugging.  
  
“Mind if we take a look around while you’re finishing up?” Seth asks.  
  
“No problem,” Edge says.  
  
The four of them spread out, walking down various aisles and commenting loudly, and Edge winces, thinking of all the other customers who’ll be disturbed by the racket.  
  
He keeps bagging, chatting to Carrie as he does, and-  
  
-he’s back in the parking lot, standing next to the Jeep, the bags all loaded up.  
  
He pauses and rubs his head, a little confused. He remembers bagging the groceries, watching the newcomers pay, saying goodbye to Carrie, but what just…?  
  
“Something wrong?” Kaitlyn calls.  
  
Edge shakes his head briskly. “No, nothing.”  
  
Bayley pops up in front of him, still bouncing. “Can we see your farm now?”  
  
It’s hard to be anything except cheered in her presence, and Edge smiles. “Sure.”  
  
They drive off sedately, crossing the few streets left in Greenville that they haven’t crossed, Edge leading the way, and then they leave the town and arrive back at the farm.  
  
_Park in front._  
  
Edge parks in front, waiting as the Kombi and Humvee park nearby, and then climbs out, grabbing the bags.  
  
“Need any help?” Seth calls.  
  
Edge has to put the bags down before he can rummage through his pockets for the key-ring and throw it to Seth. “It’s the gold one. Just don’t open it too wide- the last time one of the cats got out, it took me an hour to get her back inside.”  
  
Bayley stares, her eyes wide. “Where was she?”  
  
“Climbed a tree,” Edge explains, pointing to a thin sapling. “It’s strong enough to hold her, but I couldn’t climb it.”  
  
Seth opens the door, and Edge winces, waiting for Rain to shoot out.  
  
There’s a surprising lack of Rain, as it turns out.  
  
Maybe she got scared off by the newcomers?  
  
There’s an awkward pause, and then Edge shrugs. “OK, then…”  
  
He carries the bags to the door, Seth pulls it open and Edge walks in.  
  
There is a cat in the hallway, but it’s not Rain, it’s Marx. He’s washing himself indolently as Edge walks past, and Bayley lets out a little squeal as she walks in.  
  
“KITTY!”  
  
Marx, like any cat, takes one look at the strange newcomer who’s making loud noises and runs like hell.  
  
“Awww!”  
  
“Cats don’t like loud noises, Bayley,” Roman explains, though he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.  
  
“Just give him a little time,” Edge says. “He’ll warm up to you. We don’t get a lot of visitors, so he’s probably just a little freaked by the new people.”  
  
“What’s his name?” Bayley asks.  
  
“Marx.”  
  
Kaitlyn coughs. “You have a cat named Marx? As in, M-a-r-x?”  
  
“It was on his collar,” Edge explains. “He was a stray when I found him.”  
  
Kaitlyn nods, though she doesn’t look very convinced.  
  
Well, it’s not like he has other cats named Lenin and Mao.  
  
Edge sets the bags down in the kitchen and starts unpacking. There’s not a lot to do, and once he’s done, he looks up at his guests.  
  
“Shit, sorry- can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?”  
  
“You have coffee?” Seth asks, his eyes lighting up.  
  
“Instant,” Edge apologises. “And the milk’s condensed.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Seth says, waving a hand. “Whatever you’ve got is fine.”  
  
There’s a faint meow, and everyone turns to see Muffin, sitting in the corner.  
  
Roman grabs Bayley’s hand before she can move. “Don’t run at the poor cat!”  
  
“But- but- _kitty!”_ Bayley protests, waving her hands to try conveying the overwhelming presence of kitteh.  
  
Kaitlyn rolls her eyes, walks over and calmly picks Muffin up. “See? That’s how you do it. Now pat the kitty, Bayley.”  
  
Bayley holds out a careful hand and starts stroking Muffin, gasping in delight when Muffin starts purring. “He’s so _soft!_ What’s his name?”  
  
“Muffin,” Edge replies.  
  
“He’s so _cute!”_  
  
Muffin, being Muffin, just loves it.  
  
For his own part, Edge busies himself with making coffee for Seth and Kaitlyn, tea for Roman and himself, and orange juice for Bayley.  
  
Once he’s done, they all take their drinks on the tour: Edge explains about the power and water, and then takes them to see the other animals. Bayley predictably adores the dogs, but upon seeing the rabbits, she goes nuts.  
  
On mutual silent agreement, everyone else decides to leave her with the bunnies.  
  
By the time they’re done with the tour, Kaitlyn has managed to pull Bayley away from the animals. Reluctantly, she tags along with them, pouting.  
  
Edge pauses before they walk back inside, suddenly realising something.  
  
“You were going to ask me to go with you, weren’t you?” he asks. “To Haven.”  
  
Seth shrugs and nods. “In theory. But you’re not going anywhere, are you?”  
  
“I’ve got a farm to look after,” Edge says. “I can’t leave the animals.”  
  
“We’d get people from Haven to bring them along,” Seth says. “But that’s not the point, is it?”  
  
“I’ve got the town to look after,” Edge protests. “Who’d take down the mutants if I’m not there?”  
  
The other four trade a glance, and Edge-  
  
_Something’s wrong. Stay alert._  
  
-tenses, unsure of what’s going on.  
  
“What?” he asks.  
  
Kaitlyn says something, but Edge has no idea what. Her voice is loud enough, but he can’t make out what she said.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says. “What did you say? I can’t hear you.”  
  
She repeats herself, but Edge still can’t understand her.  
  
He shakes his head, irritated. “What?”  
  
A hand lands on his arm, and Edge looks up at Roman’s unsmiling face.  
  
“You know they’re dead, right?” Roman asks.  
  
Edge freezes, the blood draining from his face. “What?”  
  
“The whole town’s dead,” Roman repeats. “The only living human around these parts is you.”  
  
“No,” Edge whispers. “No, that’s not true.”  
  
“Isn’t it?” Roman asks, and there’s no malice in his voice.  
  
“No, I talked to them today, I met-”  
  
Edge goes still, because his mind is replaying every conversation he’s had, but it’s not… it’s not…  
  
He met Joe outside town-  
  
- _a rotting corpse sitting against a building, staring off into the distance with hollow eye sockets, cloth flaking off his body in tatters-_  
  
-and then it was Sally and Rita-  
  
- _two little bodies in school uniforms, two skeletons still holding hands, their bodies fallen to the ground like they’d tried to run, but half of Sally’s_ face _is gone and a mutant ripped Rita’s throat out, and suddenly Edge_ knows _why Rita never said a single word to him-_  
  
-and then the Carlsons-  
  
_-he’d shielded his wife, but whatever it was had taken him down with one swipe, but he’d fallen on top of her, trying to shield her, but it hadn’t worked because the fucking thing had shifted him aside and torn her jaw off-_  
  
-and Molly-  
  
- _who’d probably gone to work hoping that the routine would save her, but she must have known that the acid eating her from the inside would kill her, and it did, leaving her dead on the library floor and nobody knew-_  
  
-and then Carl and Carrie-  
  
_-both of them shot in the head, probably by looters, left to lie where they fell, dead for something out of their control-_  
  
-and Edge sways, nearly collapsing, until Roman catches him.  
  
“No,” he whispers.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Roman says distantly, and Edge can barely hear him, because his ears are full of static.  
  
“They’re not dead,” Edge whispers. “They’re _not_.”  
  
Roman says something, but Edge can’t hear him. He sags, his legs barely able to hold him up, and he barely notices it when Angel winds around his legs, purring, distressed that her human’s unwell.  
  
There’s another hand on his arm, and Edge looks up, his mind full of static, to see Bayley.  
  
She hugs him, and suddenly he feels… not better. But… safer. Calmer. Like things are going to be all right. Like he's loved.  
  
There’s a brief sting in the side of his neck, and Edge is almost glad when the darkness swallows him.

  
  
  
Edge has no idea whether he’s alive or dead, and he doesn’t care.  
  
The room he’s in now is quite small. It’s painted in some soft shade of white, though the floor’s grey.  
  
The floor, for that matter, is quite soft to the touch, as are the walls.  
  
He gets up slowly and paces around the cell. There’s a small alcove he couldn’t see from his corner, with a sink, shower and toilet.  
  
Otherwise, that’s it.  
  
He sits back down in his corner and stares at the wall, unfocused.  
  
By the time the voice crackles from overhead, he’s realised what happened. It was a lie, that’s all. Because Georgetown isn’t dead, that’s ridiculous.  
  
It was probably the strangers. They tricked him so they could do… something. It doesn’t matter what. Chester is _not_ dead.  
  
“Can you hear me?” the voice says from overhead. “Excuse me, but can you hear me?”  
  
Polite enough for a prison.  
  
Edge reluctantly nods, because not acknowledging the guard isn’t going to be a good idea. But that’s all.  
  
“Can you tell me your name?” the guard asks.

_Talk to them._

“Fuck you,” Edge says almost conversationally.

Yeah, like hell is he going to be nice.  
  
There’s a startled silence.  
  
“Excuse me?” the voice says finally.  
  
“I said, fuck you,” Edge replies. “And fuck your attack dogs, and fuck whatever fucking prison this is.”  
  
“You’re not in prison,” the voice says cautiously. “You’re in hospital. This is Haven Hospital.”  
  
“This is a hospital?” Edge laughs. “What, do you fuckwits always trick people into thinking that everyone else is dead and then abduct them?”  
  
“You experienced a breakdown,” the voice replies. “And you were sedated and transported to hospital because the team were afraid for your health.”  
  
“Oh, so that’s the lie you’re telling?” Edge asks sceptically.  
  
There’s another pause, and then the voice returns. “If it’s a lie, then why couldn’t anyone get the doors fixed? Why did everyone in town just let you take what you wanted even though you couldn’t pay?”  
  
Edge freezes. “How… how did you…”  
  
He feels another touch, like someone he couldn’t see stroked his arm, and shrinks back against the wall.  
  
“Edge,” the voice says calmly, “what’s the name of the town?”  
  
“What?” Edge whispers.  
  
“I’ve just been informed that you referred to the town in question as _Bristol, Salem_ and _Camden_ in the space of fifteen minutes. You lived at the farm for months, right? You went to the town regularly? So what’s the name of the town?”  
  
Edge can’t reply. He’s too horrified.  
  
The memories are returning in a rush, that shattering sentence, the silence, the bodies, the blood, the _no no no no no no no-_  
  
…and at the back of his mind, he hears something.  
  
“ _What the fuck were you thinking?_ ”  
  
“ _I’m sorry, sir, I just-”_  
  
“ _Get out of the way, you idiot-”_  
  
It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.  


  
  
Time passes quickly when you don’t have any way to measure it.

With no way of knowing when he is, Edge soon starts measuring time by significant events, but the time in between flows together, becoming an incomprehensible mess.

The first significant event is when, after days (weeks? months? who knows?) of ignoring the voices trying to talk to them, he gives up and answers them back, and has his first actual conversation in a very long time. 

He can’t decide whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing, mainly because while he’s stuck to the belief that his captors are enemies, he just _knows_ in the back of his mind that they’re not.

 

The second event is the first time he actually gets a face to go with the voice: one of the ~~captors~~ doctors braves the depths of Edge’s cell. 

It doesn’t go well, but it’s not Edge’s fault: the doctors apparently believed that he might get violent, hence why they hadn’t come in to talk to him before. As it turns out, however, Edge is more afraid of them than they are of him, and the short conversation ends with Edge huddled in the corner and refusing to talk.

It takes a while before he can countenance another attempt at a face-to-face meeting, but once he can, things go a lot smoother.

 

 

The subsequent meetings lead to the third event: the doctors decide that his condition has improved enough that he can go for a walk around the hospital.

At first, Edge thinks it’s a good idea. That opinion immediately changes as soon as he actually gets outside.

There are _people_ there. Actual, living people, who walk around and smile and talk and there’s so _many_ of them. And then it gets even worse: he finds a window, and sees the landscape for the first time.

The hospital’s on top of a hill overlooking Haven, and Edge freezes when he sees the town. It’s so… _alive._ Cars are moving, he can see _people_ walking and the lights are on and he wonders how the fuck he could have ever mistaken his town for _this._

It’s a long, long while before he can manage to leave his room after that.

 

 

It is, however, only a few days after Edge re-emerges that the fourth event happens: he’s eating lunch in the cafeteria when one of the doctors casually sits down and starts making idle conversation. It doesn’t take long for the conversation to stop being idle and start being intriguing: they’ve decided to ask him if he knows where any other survivors might be. Hell, the doc even brought a map along.

It’s the map that fascinates him rather than the conversation: the doctor explains that Haven has tiny teams of people moving all over the dead zone, looking for survivors and hunting down the mutant animals and taking note of the changes that have happened after the virus… poison… bioweapon… _thing_ hit. As a result, the map has been updated, and things aren’t good, to say the least: Edge counts dozens of towns that have been totally destroyed. Some were blown off the map from gas explosions; others were burned down; one town was even destroyed by flood. Others are mostly intact; still more have been taken over by the mutant animals.

It’s sobering, to say the least.

Edge eventually manages to drag his eyes away from the map and admits the truth: he has a few vague memories of living in Toronto, and he remembers his time on the farm, but he doesn’t remember a damn thing in between, and he doesn’t know why. He’s in the middle of apologising when he realises that the doctor’s not looking at his face, he’s looking at Edge’s hand, and that’s because his hand has grabbed the doctor’s pen and is moving without Edge knowing, drawing tiny circles all over the map, and he hasn’t even felt it moving.

Edge has no idea what the fuck is happening, so he just sits and stares and waits until his hand draws a final, large circle and sets the pen down. 

Both men just stare at each other for a second, and then the doctor takes the map, thanks Edge calmly and departs, leaving Edge to wonder what the fuck is going on.  
  


The fifth event, maybe weeks later, is when he gets his answer: he’s sitting down with another doctor and they’re discussing Edge’s current condition when the question of his being discharged is brought up.

Edge toys with the idea for a minute before admitting the truth: he doesn’t want to be discharged, simply because he doesn’t think he can handle the outside. Sure, he’s adjusted to the hospital, but it’s not that big and there aren’t nearly so many people there. Everything’s nice and controlled, not like it would be in Haven proper. And besides, what the hell would he do out there?

The doctor mentions a few options, like taking care of the many non-mutated animals that have been rescued (including the ones from the farm, thankfully), or going out with one of the salvage teams, before admitting that there’s a third option that’s recently been proposed. Despite the information being outdated, the map he’d scrawled on actually did help the teams find some survivors. As a result, some of the doctors came up with an interesting hypothesis: Edge’s superpower is nothing more than extremely heightened instincts, a sort of innate knowledge that runs off his memories and everything his senses note but he misses, like a little observer in the back of his head.

Edge thinks it’s bullshit, but he’s soon distracted by the third option: apparently, somebody proposed forming a special team to find a certain type of survivor: the survivalists, the loners, the ones who’ve gone insane but managed to hold on, who might be actively dangerous. At first, Edge thinks he’s been picked to be part of the team, but no, if this gets approved, he’ll be leading it.  
  
He can’t decide which idea is worse, the instincts theory or the idea that he could _lead_ a team. As it turns out, though, the second is due to the first: the idea that he has super-instincts and the fact that he’s improved greatly since being brought to the hospital apparently makes up for how batshit insane he’s been.

Well, that and as the doctor admits, they really don’t have that many people who could do it, and necessity tends to lead to desperate manoeuvres.

Of course, the idea hasn’t even been approved yet, so nothing happens, and Edge goes back to his room shaking his head at how people can come up with the weirdest ideas.

 

  
What he’s expecting is after that is long periods of debate, ending in a verdict of ‘maybe yes, maybe no’. Instead, what he gets is an urgent meeting early in the morning, maybe a week later.  
  
The doctor’s there, along with a man Edge doesn’t recognise, a tall, arrogant-looking man with dirty blond hair.  
  
“Edge,” the doctor says, “this is William Regal. He’s one of the leaders of the Haven council.”  
  
Regal is… interesting. It’s not just the snobbish expression or his haughty demeanour, it’s the bit where he looks from Edge to the doctor to the nurse who steps in to ask the doctor a question as if he’s silently contemplating fucking them. It’s an odd combination, though Edge is sure he misread that last one.  
  
Edge shakes his hand and sits down. “Mr Regal.”  
  
“Oh, please, do call me William,” Regal says, sitting down in the doctor’s chair without even asking.  
  
The doctor sniffs, but says nothing.  
  
“Is this about that idea the doc told me about?” Edge asks. “Sending me off to find the crazy survivors?”  
  
Regal chuckles. “Yes, that’s right. We debated it incessantly, and in the end, the objections were overruled.”  
  
“I don’t think that this is a good idea,” Edge points out. “Sending a half-recovered mental patient into the wilderness to talk the crazy survivors into coming back to civilisation?”  
  
“In theory, it doesn’t sound good,” Regal agrees. “But it comes down to this: we’re lacking people who can do it, and it’s become rather a pressing need.”  
  
“It’s that important?” Edge asks.  
  
“We have two major priorities,” Regal says. “The first is finding survivors. The second is building up Haven. We’re taking care of the second, but we need you to take care of the first.”  
  
He leans forward. “Will you do it?”  
  
Edge has no idea what to say. His mind considers the various arguments, going from _yes_ to _no_ in seconds, and then an undeniable truth hits him: if there’s more people like him out there, living out grotesque parodies of normal life in towns populated by the dead, then he has to help them. It was bad enough that he lived it. Nobody else should.  
  
He looks up into Regal’s eyes. “When do I start?”

 

  
Two days later, Edge walks out of the hospital at dawn, clad in a black t-shirt, jeans, combat boots and a long black leather jacket. He’s carrying two duffel bags, and as he walks down the driveway to the Humvee and the crew waiting there, he swaps one of the bags to his other hand, pulls his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and slides them on.  
  
He stops before the small group of people gathered and smiles. “What, you guys never see a guy in a leather jacket before?”  
  
Regal chuckles. “Nice to see you’re here on time,” he says.  
  
“Nice car,” Edge says, surveying the Humvee with a critical eye. “Is that mine?”  
  
“Sure is,” Regal replies. “Our mechanics have modified it. It runs primarily on solar power, but it does have a back-up battery that’s electric, for emergencies. Or cloudy days, whichever.”  
  
Edge nods. “Nice.”

From what he’s heard, some of the people in Haven got the ability to build nearly anything as their power, so they’ve done everything from making cars that run on solar power to guitars that shoot fire.

He also heard that after that last one, everyone got banned from building anything they saw in a movie without running it past their superiors first, thank God.  
  
The vehicle in front of him looks like a Humvee, but it definitely isn’t one. It’s much bigger, to start with. There’s a few bits that look blatantly welded on, and the wheels look almost like the kind that go on monster trucks.  
  
The entire vehicle, in fact, looks like it was specially built to go into Hell and come out smiling.  
  
Edge’s smile becomes a grin. Yeah, this is definitely his kind of car.  
  
“You have enough food, clothes and other supplies for at least two weeks,” Regal says. “You also have several radios with which you can contact Haven, spare parts for the vehicle, and plenty of guns, to handle any mutants you come across.”  
  
Edge nods tersely. “And my team?”  
  
“Allow me to introduce you,” Regal says.  
  
There’s three of them, two men and a woman. They’re a very mismatched crew, but Edge likes them at once.  
  
The closest is introduced by Regal as Adam Rose, and he is one of the most camp men Edge has ever met. It’s not just the long hair or the thick Russell Brand-ish accent, it’s his whole demeanour, which is flamboyant in a way that makes Edge feel positively staid in comparison.  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Adam says, shaking Edge’s hand.  
  
“Adam is your empath,” Regal explains. “In case you run into survivors who can’t be reasoned with.”  
  
Edge can almost hear the words _like you were_ hanging in the air, but he smiles again and lets them drop.  
  
The next one is Alexa Bliss, and dear Christ she’s adorable. It’s probably her height, Edge thinks. It’s not just that she’s short, it’s that her shortness combines with her blonde-blue hair and her overall charm to produce a woman who looks like a little girl’s doll who came to life.  
  
“Alexa is your medic,” Regal explains.  
  
“I can do other stuff as well,” she says with a shrug. “But yeah, I’m mostly the medic.”  
  
“Good to meet you,” Edge says, shaking her tiny hand.  
  
The last member of the crew reminds Edge of Roman, in that he closely resembles a wall that got turned into a human. He’s tall and plump, but he exudes an air of danger that makes Edge think that at any given point, he’s a hair away from breaking someone’s arm on a whim.  
  
“Kevin Owens,” he says, not extending a hand.  
  
“Kevin is your jack-of-all-trades,” Regal says. “Sniper and mechanic, among other things.”  
  
Kevin nods, his eyes not leaving Edge’s face, and Edge wonders what he’s thinking. Resentment? Did he not want to be on the team? Does he doubt Edge’s ability to lead the team? (He’s not alone there.) Is he anticipating a lapse of sanity?  
  
Well. Either way, they’ll have to deal with it.  
  
“What’s our destination?” Edge asks.  
  
Regal hands him a piece of paper, and Edge looks at it carefully.  
  
It’s another map, but this one only shows a small part of the USA. There’s a large dot on the coast marked ‘Haven’, and someone’s drawn an arrow pointing to their destination: the Croatan forest.  
  
“The Croatan forest?” Edge asks, looking up at Regal.  
  
“According to the searchers, there’s someone in there, but they think he or she or ze is hiding from us,” Regal explains. “Your job is to try coaxing them out.”  
  
Edge thinks this over and nods slowly. “All right. I’ll give it a shot, at least.”

Regal surveys him narrowly, but he nods. “That’s all we ask, dear boy.”  
  
There’s no point in further discussion, so Edge turns to his new team. “Are we ready to go?”  
  
He gets two nods and a ‘Yes!’, and smiles. “Good. Everyone in the car.”  
  
He turns back to Regal, who gives him an approving nod. “Good luck, lad.”  
  
Edge nods back. “Thank you.”  
  
He stows his bags in the back, climbs into the driver’s seat and pauses.  
  
“What the hell are you two doing?”  
  
Alexa and Adam turn to him, both looking annoyed.  
  
“I’m riding shotgun-”  
  
“Like hell you are, I got here first-”  
  
“I’m short, Adam, I need the front or I won’t be able to see anything!”  
  
“You’re the medic, you don’t _need_ to see anything!”  
  
“Oh, for… look,” Edge says, trying to think of what a leader should do. “Five seconds. Sort it out or I’m leaving without you. Five… four…”  
  
Alexa climbs into the passenger seat and shoots Adam a smug grin. Adam mutters something nasty, but he gives up and climbs into the seat behind her, staring pointedly out the window. Kevin rolls his eyes, but says nothing, and Edge waits for a moment to see if anyone will raise any more objections.  
  
With none forthcoming, he starts the engine and pulls away from the hospital, inhaling the cold breeze with a smile.  
  
“Right,” he says, almost to himself. “Let’s do this.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The different names of the town are all from Wikipedia's list of the most common town names in the USA, if anyone's wondering.


End file.
